


Credulous Thinking

by siano_t



Series: Ethical Deficiencies [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Banter, Dinner, Flirting, Laugh attacks, Light-Hearted, M/M, Meddling Kids, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23522875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siano_t/pseuds/siano_t
Summary: Hannibal brings Will along to a dinner party thinking it'd bear fruit, though it's quite the contrary.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Ethical Deficiencies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703872
Comments: 2
Kudos: 47





	Credulous Thinking

**Author's Note:**

> ***You decide if they're recovering sociopaths or a soon-to-be couple in another universe. Doesn't matter.***
> 
> Also, apologies i don’t know how childrens work haha

Will Graham plaited his lips together, chest poised over a desk, adroitly flicking through bundles of papers that were his psychiatrist's sketches. Speaking of the devil, the man himself made his way into the room, attention solely on his own hands which worked on the lapels and buttons of his tapered suit. Will turned an eye over, though still scanning the pages. “You're going somewhere?”

Hannibal was silent for a moment, spewing his eyes over the room momentarily before peering down at his suit. “I was invited to a dinner party.”

Will hummed lowly in reply, though he partly neglected the man, his mind on the sketches. He grasped onto a particular sketch, inspecting it thoroughly. It was a very intricate sketch of a honey locust, its extensive petals compiling into a pool by the lower trunk. On an elongated branch sat a dove, very still and lifelike though it wasn't finished, vacant of any pencil shading. It was only a sketch, the start of an underlying planning of the actual product, but it was better than what Will could ever do.

“Why don't you paint your work?” Will wondered aloud, moving the paper to his chest as he turned over to Hannibal. The man wore a stone-blue button-up, marginally open by the collarbone and overlaid with a grey vest, braced with matching tapered dress pants. Will lifted an eyebrow, displaying his amused curiosity. “You're not wearing a tie.”

Hannibal gave him a side glance, “It's casual.”

“You don't look casual.”

“And neither do you,” retorted the psychiatrist, gesturing towards Will's tucked-in flannel and midnight-blue farm jeans. He promptly looked over the sketch, scoffing at it before perceptibly testing the suit's sleeves with a light stretch. “You'll also be attending.”

Will hastily dropped the sketch onto the desk, propping himself up against it as his face wrinkled. “What?”

He stared at Hannibal in evidential disbelief, who merely minded his own business, throwing on a coat. “I've picked something out for you to wear. I've hooked it in a suit protector in my bedroom closet. You can use the shower, just be sure to not make a mess.”

Will heaved an expecting leg over the other, immersing down into his own frustration. He observed the man smooth his hands over his suit, adjusting the vest like they weren't holding a conversation. It was abrupt, just out of the blue when Hannibal dispersed, telling Will he'd return in a moment, and when he had, was clad in lesser formal attire, though still very enticing, and announced they would attend a dinner party tonight, the day of their supposed drawing session. “You disappear for a few days, and now I'm supposed to be your date for some party?” Will gaped at the man, rigid palms against the flat of the desk.

“Don't be late, Will.”

**_____**

Will Graham drove weight to the corner of his mouth, wordlessly staring at himself in the mirror, turning in angles.

After lingering upon the desk for a reticent moment after the other man had left, he muttered a rerun of their conversation before tramping to the bedroom's closet, which is vast in size and undoubtedly well-kept. Very odd how the man could trust him, merely blinking over Will's marching around the house, but wouldn't elaborate on events with him for the world. He'd opened the closet, expecting to find it vacant, but was quite the contrary. The closet was virtually brimming of suits, all lined meticulously and symmetrically on coat hooks. Saying that, Hannibal had aptly skewed all of his belongings to one side, creating an unnecessary amount of room for one hanging suit that was sure to be Will's. The shielding layer was transparent, revealed a slate-coloured button-up, plaid grey ankle-fit pants, and a matching blazer. Almost grimacing, he turned to detect a box neatly perched beneath the closet's extent where the suit had been hanging. Shoes. Hannibal'd never forget the shoes. Black alpine loafers.

Will moved his hand to turn back some curls, drifting closer. “I like it,” spoke a voice, a good distance behind himself and profoundly accented.

Will tilted his head, his mouth, stiffly swaying aside to find the psychiatrist's attention half on him. He scoffed slightly. “I look like myself.”

Hannibal gave him a knowing look, gazing up at him from his position on a leather chair, folded leg hovering his knee, his fingers neatly tying the laces on his sleek leather shoes. His somber eyes gradually planed Will, who shifted in unease, before he had uncrossed his legs. Standing with a lucent sigh, he moved alongside the man, manoeuvring their share of scrutiny of Will's reflection. “You look nice, Will.”

Will, a little antsy, bore at his outfit a scattering amount of times before adjusting towards Hannibal, who funded him an insightful glance, raising his flaxen brows and optimistically hoisting his lips. Reluctantly, Will beamed into the mirror, though forged and greatly lacking glee. Nonetheless, Hannibal's reflection gave him a genuine smile, patting his shoulder before pivoting his heels to the door. “And tuck your shirt in.”

**  
_____**

Opening the door to the passenger side of the car, Will hunkered onto the seat, lowly shunning his head upon kneeling inside. Inattentive to the psychiatrist, he distended the seatbelt over his chest, buckling it shut, gingerly smoothing out the pleats in his suit. Once he'd finish, he glanced over to Hannibal, who'd been inspecting him silently. “What're you smilin’ about?”

“Nothing,” the man replied shortly, deterring away to do his own seatbelt. He could feel the younger man's irked eyes boring into him, of which he took to ignore, glimpsing through the back window as he backed out of the driveway. Hannibal would always compare Will to a toy chihuahua; pint-sized, captivating in terms of looks, but easily riled. The man resented in provoking the man further when he was already upset. His mouthing off was similar to that of a dog's obnoxious yipping, and it was the last thing Hannibal preferred to be listening to while attempting to eat his dinner.

It was never a blue moon until the brunet noticed something, who promptly relieved his position of his arm against the door before slowly moving, visibly bristled. “Hannibal,” he spoke, peculiarly calm. “That wasn't my suit, how did you get my size?”

**_____**

The demeanour of the banquet was just as overwhelming as breathtaking. The walls were coloured a light tawny and white, illuminated by several pendent chandeliers, conceived of faux candles and lustrous crystal glass. There was no leeway for anything other than tables, chairs, and minimal space for walking on one side of the room. The other side was definitely not vacant, but full of several umpteen adults. And children. 

It was nothing Will anticipated, he realises, fumbling with the insides of his pant pockets. He eyed everything apprehensively, feeling his chest began to bind. As if they had melded minds, Hannibal turned to the man, ducking to an extent to reach the space above Will's ear. “It won't be this manner for long, Will.”

“I hope so,” Will smiled nervously, to which Hannibal promptly acknowledged. Cries of a baby began to erupt in the distance, and Will questioned his own statement.

Hannibal was silent for a brief moment, before he nonchalantly leaned in once more. “You used my soap?”

“Who the hell brings soap everywhere with them?” Will muttered in a bristled drawl, squeezing his fists. “And stop smelling me.”

Hannibal pursed his lips together, levelling his composure as the heels of a blonde woman clacked directly for them. She was lithe with high cheekbones, unyielding features and heart-shaped lips, her baby blonde hair coiled into loose waves that fell over her shoulders. She widely beamed at Hannibal, expanding her bracelet-clad, manicured hand for Hannibal to carefully take. “Hannibal! Glad you could make it. Who's this?”

“That is my friend, Will Graham.”

The woman eagerly shook the brunette's hand, who thought to himself how dreaded this situation was. “Deanna Green. He's cute,” laughed the woman, nudging the psychiatrist.

Will picked his gaze up from the shipshape glass floor, making out the figures standing aside one another, their attention solely on the flustered Will. He looked to Hannibal, who returned the favour, his cimmerian eyes casting down and back up briefly before looking to the woman. “We have the same mind.”

And then they derive into the same share of laughter, leaving Will to muddle in his own dilemma, staring hard at the ground. How could Hannibal switch from being the weird man smelling him to the well-repressed man he was now so fast and on the ball? Will could feel his jowls began to flush, the laughs, talking and other commotion convert into an imperceptible blur fuzzing inside his ears, and just as it had, he meekly murmured, “I'm gonna go get a drink,” and left to do just that.

**_____**

Will Graham could see the fashion of the way the man eyed him, concernedly hoisting his brows at the way the brunet downed his cocktails and other hearty drinks without a hitch, not giving his glass of water so much as a glance. They had all settled into assorted tables, and it was of the utmost accord that Will was seated in the middle of two strangers, with Hannibal across of him, who happened to be amid a stranger and a child. The repulsive look on his face sent Will's mind through an entertained loop. And the fact that the man tried very hard to disregard it?

“Tonight, we have served a lobster bisque with a side of roasted cauliflower, seared scallops, and lemon. Enjoy your dinner.” The immaculately-dresses waiters and waitresses spoke in each section, lighting down plates and side plates. Will Graham looked to Hannibal once the people around them picked up their utensils, but amusedly found that the man merely reached for his drink, first.

“I want to thank you all for coming to my house warming dinner party. It means a lot to me and my husband of four that you all were able to attend,” Deanna Green beamed at the crowd of clapping, waving for her partner, a dressed-to-the-teeth man with overly gelled hair.

Attempting to pay attention, the brunet caught his attention rending over to the psychiatrist opposite himself, who contradicted everyone. The child, a boy around six, had been floundering the poor man, grappling onto his suit with his food-soiled fingers. Hannibal, not wanting to even look at the child, grimaced in discontent upon seemingly the mother who halted his actions by hauling him aside. He met Will's gaze, who simply smiled into his knuckle.

“The dinner served tonight was a courtesy of a friend, Milton Forbes,” the blonde gestured, profusely grinning at another men who garnered the tables' attention. The man, towering though overly hefty, delightedly grinned upon all the attention funded. Through all the commotion and lively chatter, Will found it near impossible to disrupt his trance of the other half of the table. Hannibal, the one and only, an exceptional psychiatrist, was succumbing to evidential annoyance, breaking his brass-bound impassive composure just for a little boy, who had spewed a mouthful of soup across the man's suit and skin.

Hannibal's lithe mouth seemed to be moving, but his mutters were solely audible to the indiscreet child, giggling at his distress, perilously gouging a napkin into his suit. Will had been doing a fine job of containing his composure, just until the child had labeled the man, ‘Daddy,’ and loud. Blatantly loud. A portion of the eyes and ears of the table turned for the psychiatrist, including the mother of the child, who apologised briefly and manoeuvred the child, but the damage had been done. Will had been sent into an outbreak of unfeasible laughter, and in an attempt to silence it, fit his palm over his moving lips but merely initiated a storm of snorts.

Hannibal, though in a stupor in disbelief, had steadied his composure and was now one of the many eyeing Will's fit, who slammed his fist onto the clothed table and forged his heel into the ground, his cerulean eyes becoming burnished in tears. Even through the dinner and rather deviating laugh made of snorts and hiccups, Hannibal found it in him to smile, slightly buried into the warmth of his palm. He'd never drag the brunet along for another event again.


End file.
